What Is Real
by pgrabia
Summary: Wilson wakes from a coma w/memories of a year no one else recalls.  Is he crazy or are they? For "While You Were Sleeping" Challenge at Sick Wilson comm on LJ. H/W friendship/preslash, H/Cu  mentioned , W/S.  SPOILERS up to 7x16. See warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: ****What Is Real**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** J. Wilson, G. House, L. Cuddy, E. Foreman; House/Wilson Friendship-UST or Pre-slash/slash. Mention of House/Cuddy once established but recently over.

**A/N: **This is a response to the "While You Were Sleeping" Challenge at Sick_Wilson at LJ. As will become apparent there are three different stories going on at the same time and I have tried to clarify by changing fonts and italics. I also borrowed some lines from the show, mostly from episode 6x22 "Help me". Where I have they are in bold type. Hopefully this won't be too difficult to follow. It's unbeta-ed because I'm too impatient to post it, so please forgive me. I will post this once but at the end of each chapter will be a link to the next. I've also taken liberty on interpreting what I saw of the American promo for episode 7x16 "Out of the Chute" so by this coming Monday when "Out of the Chute" is broadcast this will probably be quite AU.

**Warning: **Spoilers for all seasons and episodes up to and including 7x16; coarse language, violence, sexuality. Involves subjects like _drug abuse_, _addiction,_ _suicide ideation and suicide _although there is _no_ actual major character death. Reader Discretion advised.

**Genre:** Drama/help-comfort with friendship heavy with the UST.

**Word Count: **3694 (this chapter); total: ~15000 including introduction.

**Rating: M(NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, drug use

**What is Real****  
****  
****Chapter One**

**May 20, 2010:** Opening his eyes he quickly shut them to block out the blinding light around him. He could hear the sound of movement nearby, but it barely registered in his sluggish, confused brain. There was also the faint, repetitive beeping that he could almost place but not quite. He knew he was lying down and that his body hurt but it was a diffuse pain and he couldn't decide what exactly hurt and why.

"Hey, Wilson—are you awake?" a familiar male voice murmured softly from somewhere around him. He knew he should recognize that voice but he was unable to put a name to the face he pictured in association to it. He knew it would come to him if he was patient.

"Hey, I know you can hear me," the voice said again. "Come on, wake up! Come on, you can do it. Wilson, wake the hell up!"

That voice…House. It was House's voice…his voice from the grave…

H/W

**March 8, 2011:** _From the moment he saw him limp into the hospital—at ten in the morning—Dr. James Wilson knew that something was terribly wrong. His best friend, Dr. Gregory House, was limping more than he had in months, his shoulders were slumped, his head down, and he was wearing the same clothing he'd worn the day before. From his perch on the second floor mezzanine looking down at the main lobby of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, the older man looked a lot older than usual. He was slightly pale, the creases that gracefully lined his fifty-one year old face were much deeper and harsher and there were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept the night before. His face, which had been lighter in expression since he'd started dating their boss was now shrouded by a dark cloud of misery._

_It was that look of misery that had sent a chill down the Chief of Oncology's spine. He watched as the diagnostician stopped at the front desk to pick up any messages, heard him snarl at one of the nurses to 'snap to it' to which she asked him who had pissed in his cornflakes that morning before nearly throwing the small message slips into his face. House snatched them up and then headed toward the elevator. Wilson knew that his friend would be headed for the fourth floor where both his department and House's were located. Wilson decided to take the stairs up two floors to be there to greet him._

_When House stepped off the elevator he nearly ran into Wilson. Dull blues eyes looked up at him briefly, but it was long enough to take the younger man's breath away for more than one reason. House's pupils were pin-points._

_He was on Vicodin—a relapse. There was only one reason Wilson could think of that House would have gone back to the drugs and risk losing the relationship with Dr. Lisa Cuddy that he cherished so much; that was, if there was no longer a relationship to keep._

_Without a word House stepped around Wilson and headed for his office. Of course, the oncologist followed. His stomach was tightening into a hard, painful knot in the pit of his stomach and he could feel a headache forming behind his eyes._

"_House, hold up!" Wilson called after him, his two good legs easily catching up to and falling into stride with the man who only had one that functioned the way it was supposed to. Instead of pursuing the topic in the open corridor he followed the older man into the latter's office. House sloughed off his coat and flung it along with his backpack onto the sofa before sitting down behind his desk and elevating his legs onto the top of it, favoring the right leg as he lifted it with his hands onto the desk top._

_Wilson came to stand in front of him on the opposite side of said desk. He resisted the urge to bring his hands to his hips and stuck them into the pockets of his white lab coat instead._

"_So?"_

_House looked at him lazily, raising an eyebrow. "So, what?"_

_Wilson sighed and took a seat in one of the rarely used visitor's chairs. "So why are you back on Vicodin, and where the hell did you get it from?"_

_This time it was House's turn to sigh. A look of resignation crossed his face as if he'd known that he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret from his best friend for long._

"_I took it so I could be with her," he muttered, looking away._

"_What do you mean? Oh, you mean, so you could be with her while she waited for the pathology report on her tumor?"_

_The older man nodded once._

_It clicked with Wilson. House must have been terrified at the thought of losing the woman he loved and in his typical fashion had decided to deal with the painful situation by avoiding it. When the oncologist had called him on it in frustration, House had decided to do the right thing and go to her to encourage and support her; but why the Vicodin?_

Because he'd been unable to face it sober, _Wilson realized. It had been too painful and frightening for him but because Cuddy had needed him he'd gone to her in the only way he'd been able to._

_Wilson didn't know whether to slap him silly or reach over the desk and hug him in compassion. Just when he began to think that House's selfishness knew no bounds, he was slapped in the face with the truth._

"_Why didn't you tell me that you were so upset and afraid?" he asked the diagnostician. "Didn't you think I'd understand?"_

_Two blue eyes looked up to meet his gaze._

"_No."_

_H/W_

**May 18, 2010:** **PPTH was overrun with the wounded and maimed being brought one ambulance after another from Trenton, the sight of a crane collapse that had destroyed an office building full of people going about their daily life earning a living. There was no room in the actual emergency room for all of the patients being brought in for treatment, some of them critically injured and in need of immediate care. PPTH wasn't the only hospital receiving disaster victims; every hospital in the Trenton region was receiving overwhelming numbers of tragic cases.**

**Wilson had come in as usual that morning, only this time in a foul mood after having had a real argument with his ex-wife turned live-in girlfriend, Dr. Samantha Carr. He hadn't expected to find what looked like the results of a war filling up every examination room, open-area (like the main lobby and the gymnasium), corridor, lounge, and conference room. He hadn't received the call that a Code Green—the recall of all off-duty medical staff to the hospital due to a disaster/mass trauma event—had been issued. He had only learned about the disaster upon arrival from an intern who looked lost and confused in the mayhem going down all around her.**

**When House had arrived Wilson was in the main lobby literally up to his elbows in a young man's chest performing a cardiac massage in order to stimulate his non-beating heart. There had been no defibrillators free and at his disposal when the kid had gone into cardiac arrest, and the epi he'd demanded had been taking its sweet time getting to him. CPR had been producing no results and the oncologist had been unwilling to just stand by and watch a twenty-year-old die simply because there weren't enough apparatus and drugs to go around on such short notice. It had been a split second decision to call over a nurse, shout for a rib spreader of some kind, a heavy-duty scalpel, and some gloves. Only having performed the procedure once before in his career as a resident, he'd relied heavily on his good memory and a lot of luck to reproduce the action. It had worked and the man had been rushed off to emergency surgery while Wilson had gone to the nearest bathroom to wash the blood off his arms. On his way back to the lobby he'd seen House following Cuddy out of her office. She had been put in charge of organizing the onsite triage and was on her way to Trenton with House accompanying her.**

**Wilson had immediately reacted at the thought of a doctor with a crippled leg being forced to enter a dangerous disaster zone where there was a myriad of things to trip over or fall into and performing a job a resident or an experienced nurse practitioner could do. He'd immediately hurried over to stop House before he left the hospital. Cuddy had stopped as well, obviously angered by the delay.**

**"House, you shouldn't be the one out there picking through rubble with your bad leg!"**

**The diagnostician had looked at him with hurting blue eyes and said stiffly, "Dr. Dread here doesn't agree."**

**"His skill at picking out signs of underlying illness and injury is needed down there," Cuddy had told him coldly. "Hurry up, House." She pivoted and marched towards the exit, not looking back.**

**"I'll go," Wilson told House in concern. "You stay here where your skills as a doctor will be better utilized. I've got two good legs."**

**"I don't need your pity-favors, Wilson," House had replied with a shake of his head. "Besides, you've got someone to make it home to alive and in one piece." The unspoken part of that message had impacted Wilson the hardest as he watched House leave through the same exit that Cuddy had seconds before. Feeling helpless and worried the oncologist had had no other choice but to get back to work.**

H/W

As he slowly emerged from unconsciousness to awareness, Wilson could feel warm hands holding one of his. The hands had long, tapered fingers that wrapped around his. He attempted to open his eyes again, much more slowly than his first try. The light around him was still quite bright but part of it was being blocked by a blurry face and torso. The blurry face moved and House's voice sounded again.

"That's it, Wilson. Good. You can do this."

His eyes were as wide as he could open them. He blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision. It took a little while but slowly he was able to focus on House's face. Two beautiful blue eyes stared back at him.

"You're intubated," House informed him. "Don't try to talk or you'll start to gag. If you understand what I'm saying, nod."

It took a moment for the command Wilson's brain sent to the muscles involved to reach them but eventually his head nodded twice. The smile in the diagnostician's eyes spread to his mouth. He was a sight for sore eyes, smiling or frowning. How was it possible Wilson was seeing him looking so alive and well when the last memory he had of the older man was one he wished he could forever forget.

"Your response was a little slow there, but it'll do. Damn, Wilson! You scared the shit out of me. For a while I thought…" House's words trailed off to nothing and he sighed.

Wilson's eyes and head moved slowly as he took in his surroundings and his brain lazily made sense of it. A monitor displaying and recording his heart rate, Blood O₂ saturation, respiratory rate and blood pressure hung above, behind and to the side; a steel IV stand, regulator pump and half-full poly bags of saline, what might have been an antibiotic and morphine; the IV tube that ran from the pump to the PICC line in his right arm; the respirator pumping O₂ through a tube connected to the tracheal tube that ran down toward his lungs; the smallness of the room and the fact that he was the only one in it. He was in ICU but as for why or for how long he didn't have a clue or even a way to ask. What he did know was that he had a headache which probably would have been a lot worse if not for the pain killer easing it; it was also slowing his thought processes.

From what House had just said, with more emotion than he'd heard come from the man in reference to him in months, whatever had happened to the oncologist had been severe enough to strike fear in the man's calloused heart.

If only he could remember.

He looked up at House with what he hoped were puzzled, imploring eyes. He tried not to be distracted by the stunning blueness and clarity staring back at him. His eyes were vulnerable, open, and the pupils…the pupils…

H/W

_Small pupils made House's eyes look like giant sapphires as he looked away from the oncologist, who stood watching him. Wilson felt a pang of guilt. Of course the diagnostician didn't trust him to understand and be compassionate. How many times had House slipped up only to receive looks of anger, disappointment and a lecture from him? Perhaps House was reminded of a Christmas eve when Wilson had left his overdosing friend on the floor of his apartment to an uncertain fate because he'd been furious and sickened by House's theft of a dead man's Oxycontin. Wilson had forgotten that addiction was a cruel, merciless bitch that demanded what she demanded and wasn't satisfied until she got it no matter what House had had to do to get it. Not unlike another addiction that had just devastated his best friend and left him to writhe and fight for life all alone._

_Only this time, Wilson was determined to be understanding and empathetic; he refused to turn his back on the diagnostician and walk away._

"_I fucked up," Wilson told him as House rubbed his eyes tiredly before his right hand went to rub his ruined thigh. "I wasn't there because I had my head up my ass. I get it; but I'm here now. Help me to understand. I need to if I'm going to help you."_

"_You're assuming I want your help." House looked at him not with anger or bitterness but with defeat. "I tried the sobriety route. I did the therapy, stayed off the Vicodin, suffered when the ibuprofen did dick-all for the pain, tried to be a trustworthy, loving, giving boyfriend and screwed that up and none of it made my life better. I'm still miserable and alone. So I might as well be pain-free, miserable and alone."_

_Wilson watched him rub his leg relentlessly. _So much for the pain-free part,_ Wilson thought grimly. _

"_House, you're not alone…and it did make your life better at one point." _Until I pissed on your efforts and our friendship, _the oncologist added silently. "It can again. You can pull it back together. Don't give up on yourself like this just because Cuddy is too selfish to give back what she's been demanding from you for herself."_

_House reached for the IPod on his desk, and put the ear buds into the openings of his auditory canals. He looked at Wilson briefly with desolate eyes. "Too late." He turned on the IPod and raised the volume until he couldn't hear anything his friend had to say. House leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. Seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere with his friend, Wilson strode out of the office._

H/W

**No matter how hard he tried to focus on the immediate needs of the injured Wilson couldn't stop thinking about House being at the disaster site, stumbling over twisted metal and large pieces of concrete and body parts. He was angry with himself for not insisting to Cuddy that he go in House's place. House's pride would keep him from resting his leg when he needed to and keeping away from the more dangerous zones.**

**He was also angry at Cuddy for insisting that it be House specifically to go down there when she was smart enough to know that the drawback of his disability would easily overshadow the benefit of his diagnostic genius under those circumstances. Those people had been wounded by a crane and a building falling on top of them. There was no fantastic mystery that only House could solve. Wilson knew that there had been a great deal of tension between the Dean of Medicine and her recalcitrant Chief of Diagnostic Medicine since her affair with Lucas Douglas had been revealed in possibly the most humiliating way for House that it could have been. She seemed to resent the fact that House, in spite of his feelings for her, had respected her relationship and had backed off and acted as if it was a personal slight to her. House, still feeling hurt and betrayed by the way she had flirted shamelessly with him after his release from Mayfield (when the entire time she'd been doing the private investigator), felt uncomfortable and embarrassed around her and avoided her as much as possible. Wilson wondered if this was one way she was vindictively trying to punish him for not continuing to pursue her in spite of her verbalized demands for him to back off.**

**Wilson shook his head in frustration. Cuddy was his friend, but House was his _best_ friend and he hadn't been able to tolerate that she was narcissistic enough to have toyed with the diagnostician's heart to boost her own ego and to entertain her.**

**He was busy picking embedded shards of glass out of a man's forehead with forceps when his cellphone rang. Checking it quickly, Wilson saw House's name on the call display and answered it. He didn't stop what he was doing as he talked, the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder.**

"Having fun down there?" **he asked right off in obvious sarcasm. There was a hint of worried tension in his voice. In the background he could hear the sounds of bulldozers, jackhammers, saws and ambulance sirens.**

"Lots,"** House responded with faux-cheer. **"Every time Cuddy leans over a patient it's another opportunity for a down-blouse-nip-slip. What's going on between her and Lucas?"

**He was fishing for something but Wilson had no idea what. **"Beside's their moving in together? That's not enough for you?"

"I gave her the _house_warming gift earlier," **the diagnostician confessed, placing emphasis on the double-meaning. **"She paused for a split second; she was hiding something."

**Wilson sighed silently. He was afraid that his hopeful best friend was reading something into what was actually nothing, and would end up disappointed—or worse. Why couldn't House accept the fact that the _U.S.S. Cuddy_ had set sail already and just move on?**

"It was probably her moral revulsion at the House-warming gift." **Wilson grabbed ahold of a particularly large shard of glass and carefully extricated it from the surrounding flesh, tossing it into a pan with the rest of them.**

"Maybe she didn't want to accept a gift for something she wasn't going to do," **House quipped in return. The oncologist didn't like the hopeful lilt he heard.**

"You actually think they're not moving in together?" **he asks the older man. Suddenly there is the sound of a smash and shattering glass near House's cellphone that startles Wilson and revives his concern for House's well-being. **"What was that? You okay?"

"Yeah,"** came the nearly immediate reply from a calm House. **"A vending machine collapsed. Is she still using your ex-wife as her realtor?"

"As far as I know."** Wilson sighed softly. House wasn't going to let this go which only meant one thing—a migraine headache for the oncologist and more drama for the love-sick diagnostician. Wilson frowned nearly imperceptibly; the idea of House being in love with Cuddy more than irritated him.**

"Know a little farther, will you?"** said older man requested. **"Look into it."

**Before Wilson could respond House hung up on him. He quickly pressed end on his own phone and returned it to his belt. 'Look into it'? Yeah, he would get right on that as soon as he was done picking glass out of this forehead, stitching a deep bleeding slice in a young woman's arm, popping another woman's shoulder back into its proper place, and casting an older man's broken ulna.**

**Relieved that at least for the time being his friend was still fine, Wilson tried to put House and his fiendish schemes out of his mind so he could focus on the people he was charged with treating.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: ****What Is Real**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** J. Wilson, G. House, L. Cuddy, E. Foreman; House/Wilson Friendship-UST or Pre-slash/slash. Mention of House/Cuddy once established but recently over.

**A/N: **This is a response to the "While You Were Sleeping" Challenge at Sick_Wilson at LJ. As will become apparent there are three different stories going on at the same time and I have tried to clarify by changing fonts and italics. I also borrowed some lines from the show, mostly from episode 6x22 "Help me". Where I have they are in bold type. Hopefully this won't be too difficult to follow. It's unbeta-ed because I'm too impatient to post it, so please forgive me. I will post this once but at the end of each chapter will be a link to the next. I've also taken liberty on interpreting what I saw of the American promo for episode 7x16 "Out of the Chute" so by this coming Monday when "Out of the Chute" is broadcast this will probably be quite AU.

**Warning: **Spoilers for all seasons and episodes up to and including 7x16; coarse language, violence, sexuality. Involves subjects like _drug abuse_, _addiction,_ _suicide ideation and suicide _although there is _no_ actual major character death. Reader Discretion advised.

**Genre:** Drama/help-comfort with friendship heavy with the UST.

**Word Count: **3550 (this chapter); total: ~15000 including introduction.

**Rating: M(NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, drug use

**Chapter Two**

Wilson had drifted off to sleep again and woke an indeterminate amount of time later; he wasn't really surprised to see the diagnostician still keeping vigil over him. Someone, likely members of his team, had brought down the yellow Eames chair from House's office and its owner now slept in it, snoring softly. Wilson had no idea what time it was…or even what day or month it was. He'd already deduced that he had a head injury, the extent of which had to have been fairly serious to scramble his thinking the way it was and to warrant House's constant presence near him; this was exactly the way the diagnostician had behaved after Wilson had donated a lobe of his liver to an undeserving, now-former friend.

He was still intubated, still unable to ask any questions to find out what had happened to him and how it had occurred. He had no memory of getting hurt. The last thing he could remember was driving to Cuddy's to give her the news before she heard it during a television or radio news bulletin, or read it in the paper in the morning. Had something happened on his way over to her place? A car accident, perhaps? No matter how hard he tried to retrieve something—anything—from the black recesses of his mind he failed. Anterograde amnesia?

He had to find out what happened! He had to be able to talk. As downright _cute_ House looked while he was sleeping (Wilson knew he would die a slow and painful death if he should ever use that word out loud in reference to him) he needed the tube to be taken out. He looked around for something—anything—that had enough weight to it that he could throw at the diagnostician to wake him. On the table next to his bed there was a clipboard and a pen. He focused on the writing implement as he summoned nearly all of the strength he had to stretch his arm toward the table; but the tubes and leads running to and from his body made it impossible to reach.

Then it occurred to him, and he would have smiled if his mouth hadn't been full. He unsnapped his hospital gown at the shoulder and brought the front flap down to reveal his bare chest and the leads stuck to him to which the wires for the heart monitor were attached. He knew this was going to hurt. He closed his eyes tightly, took the wires in his hand and tore them off of his body all at once. Along with pulling out a lot of hair thanks to the adhesive on the leads the heart monitor suddenly stopped receiving a signal. According to it, Wilson had just flatlined—and the shrill alarm went off.

Almost instantly House reacted and was awake, sitting straight up and turning to look in Wilson's direction. He was already halfway to the bed when he realized what the oncologist had done. The petrified look left his features and was replaced but a frown.

"Why the hell did you do that?" he demanded. "I thought you were in full arrest! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

An ICU nurse and a resident intensivist had come running as soon as the alarm had gone off and they now arrived to find that their patient wasn't in trouble after all.

"It's okay," House told them, waving them away. "This idiot just pulled off his leads, that's all. Go back to your Facebook and text messaging your boyfriends."

They glared at both House and Wilson before leaving the room. House reached up and turned the alarm off, then returned his exasperated attention to Wilson.

"What gives? I was dreaming that I was with Scarlett Johansson on a tropical beach on a blanket—and we both were _naked_. It was just getting good when you pulled this stunt!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and pointed impatiently at the tube in his mouth.

"Okay, just hold on and I'll pull that out for you," the diagnostician told him. He expertly pulled the tracheal tube out and set it aside. Finding a nasal cannula and some thinner tubing he shoved the apparatus into the younger man's nostrils and hooked him up to some oxygen. Gentle in his actions House was not.

Wilson's throat felt like it was on fire and his mouth was as dry as the Gobi desert.

House saw his discomfort and muttered "Hold on," before leaving the room briefly and returning with a plastic glass filled with ice chips. He handed it to a very grateful oncologist who immediately popped a few chips into his mouth and enjoyed their melting and rehydrating his mouth and throat.

"Thanks." Wilson's voice was weak and hoarse and came out sounding more like a stage whisper than anything else. House gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at him intensely.

"How do you feel?" the diagnostician's question surprised Wilson; he could only remember a handful of times in their twenty-year friendship that the older doctor had asked him that.

"Weird," he answered honestly with a shrug. "Memory is like Swiss cheese. It feels like my brain is trying to function in molasses. Head hurts, getting worse. Can't remember what happened to me or how I got here."

"Before I boost your painkiller you should have a neuro exam." House had Foreman paged at home; he didn't want one of the idiots on the Neurology staff here. Wilson closed his eyes. He was so tired, but he couldn't allow himself to go to sleep. He had too many questions—far, far too many.

H/W

_He pressed the doorbell button with a well-manicured hand and waited for a response. When there wasn't one after about thirty seconds Wilson pressed again. This time he heard the sound of footfall inside and then the door opened to reveal Julia, Cuddy's sister. When she saw who it was the slight smile on her face disappeared._

"_Hi," he said pleasantly. "Is Lisa available?"_

_He knew she was; he could hear her inside the house trying to convince Rachel to eat her beans. A better question was whether she was willing to talk to her ex-boyfriend's best friend the day after she had broken said ex-boyfriend's heart._

_Julia rolled her eyes and then turned to call deeper into the house, "Lisa, you were right. Should I tell him to go away?"_

_One of Wilson's eyebrows rose at that; obviously Cuddy's sister didn't put much stalk into normal pleasantries and tact. Like mother, like daughter, he supposed._

_The sister left him standing there with the door open and a few seconds later Cuddy appeared. She was still in her pajamas and bathrobe at seven in the evening. It could have been due to the fact that she was still recovering or, that this break-up was having an impact on her as well. For House's sake, Wilson hoped it was the latter; Wilson secretly hoped it was the former. It would prove his suspicious theory that he'd held since the day House had told him that he and the woman in front of him had had sex._

"_Hi," she said wearily. "What took you so long?"_

_Wilson decided to play things the nice way—for now. "Oh, a little thing called work. Lisa, look—"_

_She held up a hand and interrupted him. "Stop. I know what you're here for. You're here to try to convince me to change my mind and take House back. Well, you can save your breath. I thought hard about this before I went to him; it wasn't an easy decision. I love him, Wilson, but I need all of him consistently. He didn't show up at the award gala when he knew it was important to me that he was there because he was getting stinking drunk. Then he doesn't stick around while I'm going through test after test after you tell me that there's a mass on my kidney. I really needed my boyfriend there for me, and he wasn't. He ran away and felt sorry for himself. When he did finally come to see me, he was stoned. His body was there but the rest of him was flying like a kite."_

_Wilson bit the inside of his cheek to remind himself not to say what it was he really was thinking._

"_I know. I know," Wilson acknowledged. "Sometimes House can be selfish and a Grade A jerk—but you knew that when you got into this thing with him. He was terrified of losing you and it pained him to see you going through all of this. He didn't know how to deal with those emotions on his own. It overwhelmed him."_

"_Overwhelmed him?" Cuddy echoed incredulously. "I'm the one who may have been dying! I was overwhelmed and that's why I needed him there for support. I didn't mean enough to him to step up to the plate and be there for me."_

_Shaking his head, Wilson protested, "You know how he is under emotional pressure—but he did show up for you in the end. He loves you and knew that he had to get his ass to your side to support you."_

"_Stoned!" she interjected in outrage._

_Anger began to boil under Wilson's attempts to remain calm and remind himself that she was his friend, too. Ultimately, though, between her and house, his loyalty would always be with House._

"_Yes, stoned. I'm just as disappointed that he's relapsed as you—but you're a doctor; you know that addiction is a controllable but incurable disease and that relapses do happen. You knew he was a recovering addict when you started your relationship. Did you honest think that his struggle with Vicodin would just disappear when you two started dating?"_

_Cuddy was quickly becoming angry. She obviously hoped that he would be just as outraged at House as she was. Wilson knew that beneath her anger was hurt but there was something else: vain contempt. It was that which changed Wilson's attitude and approach._

"_No, but he didn't even try to be a good boyfriend," she insisted. "He could have changed just a little!"_

"_This is House we're talking about. He's the author of the quote 'people don't change'. He told me that he told you he wouldn't change and you told him that you didn't expect him to. From the sound of it you were the one doing the lying. You led him to believe that you loved him just the way he was, scratched and dent." Wilson's hands had moved to his hips, his usual lecture pose._

"_He could have tried," she said stubbornly. "He was selfish."_

"He_ was selfish?" Wilson exhaled loudly, shaking his head. He wasn't aware of the fact that the volume of his voice was increasing along with his frustration. "Aren't you the pot calling the kettle black? He bent himself into a _pretzel _trying to please you but your demands never stopped and no matter what he did you were never satisfied. Did you ever make any concessions for _him_? Did you ever care for _one second_ what _his_ thoughts and opinions were? Because if you did, nobody I know saw it. It's obvious that you entered this relationship with unreasonable expectations for someone like House; you weren't really in love with who he was but rather the man you _thought_ he could become with you to enforce the corrections. Do you know what that did to him?"_

"_Yes!" she exclaimed, nearly shouting. Her passion surprised even her. She took a deep breath and then said more quietly, "Yes. That night…that first night…he was on the floor, about to swallow Vicodin when I showed up. He asked me if I thought he could fix himself. I told him that I didn't know. In my head I knew that he couldn't on his own. I thought that I could help him but I realized that…__**I can't fix him; **_**I'm**_** his problem**__. He was going to relapse because of something I said to him at the disaster site but instead of relapsing on the drugs I realize…he relapsed on me."_

_Wilson stood there dumbly, allowing her words to sink in to his stunned brain. He realized that she had hit the nail on the head. All that House had done was transfer his addictive obsession for Vicodin to an obsession of her. The oncologist wondered if his best friend had ever actually been in love with the woman standing before him, or if it had been nothing more complicated than he'd been jonesing for a fix. he doubted that what she had said to him alone would have caused his first relapse; it was more likely a combination of pressures the diagnostician had been under at the time, including being kicked out and ignored by his best friend over yet another of Wilson's string of failed relationships with women._

_He could now look at her with at least a little understanding, if not forgiveness._

"_Go help House," Cuddy told him before closing the door and ending their conversation._

_H/W_

**He was finishing with his last patient when Foreman walked up to him, looking tense, even a little troubled. If the neurologist displayed any kind of emotion at all it meant that something significant had occurred or was about to. The fact that he had come to Wilson meant that it had to do with House. That caused him anxiety.**

**"What?" he asked tensely. Foreman sighed.**

**"House just got back on the ambulance carrying that woman whose leg he had to amputate."**

**Wilson stopped his wrapping of the cast around an arm, his attention now completely Foreman's. Earlier he'd received word that the damned fool he called his best friend had slithered under tons of concrete and steel into what was left of a parking garage under the demolished building when he heard sounds that indicated that there was someone trapped down below. He'd found a young woman—her name was Hannah, wasn't it?—whose leg had been crushed beneath tons of concrete. House had fought for her desire to try everything possible to free her leg rather than amputate it in spite of the risk of crush syndrome or the rest of the parking garage caving in on them. Cuddy had tried to convince Hannah to go with the amputation and apparently she and House had clashed over it—surprise, surprise. Ultimately they had been unable to free her leg so House had had to perform the amputation under the worst of conditions.**

**"And?"**

**"She was DOA. A fat embolism. House could barely get off the ambulance he was so crippled up and he must have lost his cane at the site because he didn't have it when he arrived. Wilson, I've worked for House for years. I've seen him when he was manic, depressed, frightened, angry, and frustrated but I've never see n him like he was when he got here. He looked…defeated, done, like he didn't have any desire to keep fighting. He yelled something about having done everything right and having failed anyway. I tried to convince him not to leave the hospital when he was that upset but he wouldn't listen to me. I hate admitting it, but he actually scared me. I think he's in trouble."**

**Wilson felt his stomach drop, leaving room for panic to fill him. His mind raced. With House, what he said usually had more than one meaning; he spoke in complex layers that sometimes only the oncologist could understand, and there were times that even he couldn't fathom what was really going on in his mind. However, Wilson knew that this was not good at all. House sounded self-destructive.**

**"Why didn't you stop him?" he asked as he looked down at the cast he was making in frustration. He had to get out of there _now_. There was no telling what House could do to himself when he was in a self-destructive frame of mind.**

**The neurologist must have read his thoughts. "Look, leave this. I'll finish it. Go find House."**

**Wilson nodded in agreement and thanks. Less than five minutes later he was on the road, speeding toward House's apartment hoping to find him there and before he did anything stupid to himself or someone else. The word foremost in the oncologist's mind was _relapse_. House had worked so hard over the year to stay sober and get control over his life. It made Wilson sick to think that it could all end up for naught.**

**His cellphone rang and Wilson grabbed it immediately thinking that it could be House calling him. He checked the call display and saw that it was his own home number. Sam was calling him, probably to complain about him being late coming home. He considered allowing her call to go to Voicemail but then thought better. He really didn't need her to get wound up about him ignoring her calls on top of it. Her passive-aggressive lectures would never end.**

**"Hi, Sam," he answered, not even trying to mask the stress in his voice.**

**"Hi," she said less than cheerfully. He could tell by the hint of a whine in her voice that she wasn't pleased. "Where are you, James? It's nearly midnight. We had dinner plans with Hank and Sheila tonight that I had to cancel. They were very disappointed and so am I. Come home!"**

**"Sorry, Sweetheart," he responded, not in any way sounding like it. "I couldn't tell the injured people flooding into the hospital that I couldn't treat them and relieve their pain because I had dinner plans, now could I? I'm expecting to be at the hospital for quite some time yet so don't wait up. I'll see you in the morning."**

**"This is ridiculous," Sam declared in exasperation. "You're a department head, an accomplished oncologist. Don't they have residents to do that sort of thing?"**

**Wilson rolled his eyes at that. Sometimes it was difficult to believe she was a doctor, too. Of course, she was a radiologist. She rarely if ever was called out of bed in the middle of the night to hurry in to the hospital due to an emergency. Very few of her patients actually crashed under her care; the patient's primary was responsible to take care of that, or so she believed.**

**"Of course," he answered, unable to bite back the sarcasm. "They're all here up to their elbows in carnage too. That damned crane collapse had to take place at the most inconvenient time, didn't it? Look Sam, I've got patients that need my attention; gotta go."**

**Before she could respond Wilson hung up. Sure, he had lied about where he was, but it was a harmless lie, one he felt no guilt over. If he'd told her he was rushing to House's apartment to protect the diagnostician from himself she would have launched into another one of her anti-House tirades that he was so sick and tired of hearing. More often than not, lately, he questioned his own sanity for asking her to move in with him and forcing House out of the loft. He was afraid that his doing so could be part of what was behind House's current state of mind. If anything happened to House as a result Wilson knew he'd never be able to forgive himself.**

**One of a very small number of ambulances that hadn't been diverted to Trenton sped past him with lights and siren blaring. Subconsciously Wilson's foot pushed a little heavier on the accelerator.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: ****What Is Real**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** J. Wilson, G. House, L. Cuddy, E. Foreman; House/Wilson Friendship-UST or Pre-slash/slash. Mention of House/Cuddy once established but recently over.

**A/N: **This is a response to the "While You Were Sleeping" Challenge at Sick_Wilson at LJ. As will become apparent there are three different stories going on at the same time and I have tried to clarify by changing fonts and italics. I also borrowed some lines from the show, mostly from episode 6x22 "Help me". Where I have they are in bold type. Hopefully this won't be too difficult to follow. It's unbeta-ed because I'm too impatient to post it, so please forgive me. I will post this once but at the end of each chapter will be a link to the next. I've also taken liberty on interpreting what I saw of the American promo for episode 7x16 "Out of the Chute" so by this coming Monday when "Out of the Chute" is broadcast this will probably be quite AU.

**Warning: **Spoilers for all seasons and episodes up to and including 7x16; coarse language, violence, sexuality. Involves subjects like _drug abuse_, _addiction,_ _suicide ideation and suicide _although there is _no_ actual major character death. Reader Discretion advised.

**Genre:** Drama/help-comfort with friendship heavy with the UST.

**Word Count: **4519 (this chapter); total: ~15000 including introduction.

**Rating: M(NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, drug use

**Chapter Three**

With great effort Wilson forced his eyes open again.

House was still sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at him with an unreadable look in his eyes. Those eyes. Wilson could never resist them. They made his knees go weak…he forced himself to stop thinking about that and press forward with the matter hand. What was that now? Oh, oh yes. His questions: House sitting alive and well and pressing lightly against the oncologist's hip. What the hell was going on.

Upon seeing the younger man open his eyes again House smirked in amusement. "Too stubborn to sleep before you get answers, huh? You're worse than I am."

"Impossible," Wilson told him weakly, smiling slightly. This turned House's smirk into a brief but genuine smile.

"How?" the oncologist asked in awe and confusion. "How can you be here right now? I saw it with my own eyes. I was the one who felt for your pulses and couldn't find even one…How is it that you're here?"

House stiffened slightly and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His brows moved closer together over his eyes in a classic Housian expression of curious concern.

"Say that again and make sense this time," he responded. "Why wouldn't I be here? And what do you mean when you said you couldn't find my pulse? When did you check my pulse?"

"Because you couldn't be," Wilson tried to explain, "but you are, which makes no sense, unless I was wrong. How could I have been wrong? It's not like I'm fresh out of med school. Besides, I saw it with my own eyes—there's no way someone could survive that, not the way you did it. Don't get me wrong House. I'm thrilled that you're here with me, but it just doesn't make sense."

Now House's frown deepened and he went from curious to worried. "_You're_ not making sense Wilson. What the hell is taking Foreman so long to get here?"

Wilson shook his head slightly. It appeared like House didn't have a clue as to what had happened and perhaps he couldn't. Perhaps he had been wrong and House had survived after all, but had ended up with brain damage and memory loss. That could explain him, but seeing how healthy and whole he appeared to be, Wilson realized that he had to have been in a coma of some sort for quite some time…weeks—no, no _months_. That itself begged the question of what had happened to _him_ to wind him up in the hospital with a head injury of his own. Nothing was making any sense and his head hurt so badly now that he could barely stand it without screaming. His hands went to his head, cradling it on both sides.

House didn't need the heart monitor to know that Wilson's heart rate was getting out of control. He placed a gentle hand flat against the younger man's sternum.

"Wilson, calm down. It's alright. Confusion is a common side-effect of a brain injury," the older man assured him with uncharacteristic patience. "It will probably clear as the swelling continues to go down. In the mean time you need to keep your heart rate and blood pressure from rocketing out of here. I don't know what you think happened to me, but you can relax. I'm fine. I really am."

Well, that much was obvious but it didn't answer his questions. He tried to breathe deeply and slowly, to calm down and slow his heart rate. It took a bit but eventually he was able to calm down enough that he was in no danger—and in the process his headache eased some as well.

"What happened to me?" Wilson asked, trying a different angle. "I don't remember getting hurt but obviously I did. Tell me how I wound up here and what damage I've received."

House sighed and looked away, his eyes filled with guilt.

"It happened when you were trying to save me."

H/W

_When Wilson went to House's apartment he knocked several times on the door, but House didn't respond in anyway. He continued to pound while calling out House's name but still there was nothing, not so much as a creak of a floorboard or mumble from within. The racket he caused brought House's next door neighbor, a middle aged woman, to her door. She stuck her head out of her place to see what all the noise was about._

"_Hey!" she snapped waspishly. "What's with the banging and shouting?"_

_Wilson hoped she could help him and ignored the fact that she was pissed off at him. "The man who lives here," he said to her, gesturing to House's door, "have you seen or heard from him this evening?"_

_She turned her nose up in disgust. "Who's asking?"_

"_I'm his best friend," Wilson explained. "I'm a little worried about him. Was he here at all tonight?"_

"_Him?" she repeated and then nodded. "Yeah. He was breaking glass right and left and shouting but what he was saying, I don't know. He sounded like he'd been drinking or something and was slurring his speech. I could only make out a couple of words. About an hour later I was outside saying goodbye to a friend when he staggered out of the building and nearly felt down the front steps. He got on his bike without a helmet. I told him that he shouldn't be driving in his condition. He just looked at me like he was stoned out of his mind and then took off like a bat out of hell. If he didn't wrap himself around some power pole somewhere I'd be surprised."_

_Wilson felt like he was going to vomit. Not only was House stoned on Vicodin and probably alcohol on top of that but he was riding that death trap of his on slippery roads without head protection. Images of House lying dead on the pavement, both him and his bike twisted out of shape the man bloodied and bruised, his skull cracked open began to appear in his head. He was desperate to find him now but had no idea where he would have gone._

"_Did he say anything that would indicate where he might have been going?" the oncologist asked, highly doubting that House would have said anything to her. At this point, however, he was willing to try anything._

"_Nope," was her answer. "Look, when he left here I don't think he would have known his own name if you asked him. Have you even tried the door? He might have forgotten to lock it. Just keep it down out here." She retreated back into her apartment and shut the door._

_Wilson wondered if it would have actually been that easy. He put his hand on the door knob and twisted it. The door opened. He felt like a goddamned fool and was so glad that the neighbor had disappeared before he'd discovered that he was an idiot. Wilson entered the apartment and looked around. It was completely silent and the air was still. Shutting the door behind him, Wilson walked into the living room. _

"_House?" he called out just in case the diagnostician had returned unbeknownst to the neighbor. "Are you here?"_

_He took another step forward and heard a crunching sound under his feet. He'd just stepped on what looked like half of a coffee mug. He wasn't certain where the other half was but it probably wasn't too far away. That's when Wilson noticed that every surface that was breakable in the living room and kitchen had been broken, cracked, or smashed. It looked like House had become destructively angry and took it out on his environment._

"_Shit," Wilson muttered when he noticed that even the windows had been cracked or broken. He couldn't find anything that may have been a clue as to where the older doctor may have gone. He proceeded to the bathroom. The mirror that had been replaced from the previous spring had been smashed with what looked like a highball glass. There was a trail of bloody toe prints leading to the bedroom. House must have been barefoot and cut himself on the shards of glass that were everywhere._

_In the bedroom there didn't seem to be anything broken. The mirror on his dresser was still in one piece as was a half-full glass of what looked and smelled like bourbon. The bed was messed up but that wasn't all that unusual for House. However, tangled up in the bedding there was a book. When Wilson uncovered it he found it to be a photo album. Wilson knew that House had one or two of them, mostly empty but there were a few photographs in this one. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to leaf through it, stopping briefly to look at the pictures. To his amazement they were all pictures of House and him at various times in their twenty-year friendship. One photo was loose. He picked it up and studied it closely._

_In the photo he and House were standing on the balcony of a multistory building that looked a little like an apartment building but upon closer examination turned out to be a hotel. The two of them stood behind the white railing. Wilson was waving at the photographer taking the shot up from the ground. House was giving the person with the camera the middle finger. Typical, Wilson thought, smiling fondly. He wondered if it was significant that this picture was loose but the others were securely placed into the pockets. For some reason he couldn't seem to remember where they were when that photograph was taken. What did strike him was how young they both looked…or rather, not so much young as relaxed and at ease. House was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, Wilson was wearing a polo shirt and shorts. He was smiling, and House had a devious smirk on his face, the one Wilson loved, that made him look so fun-loving and adorable. _Adorable?_ he thought to himself. Well, yeah, actually he did look adorable. It was the perfect word to describe him. Wilson had frequently taken note of House's rugged kind of good-looks and knew that if his personality was anything like it had been back then the women would still be flocking around him. A year ago Wilson would have never admitted even to himself that he found his best friend attractive…but then again, a lot had changed in both of their lives since then._

_He went to put the photograph back into a sleeve when it struck him where that picture had been taken. They had been attending a medical conference in Newark but they had registered late and hadn't been able to find a hotel anywhere in the city. They ended up staying at the one in the picture in Perth Amboy. House had often remarked afterward that that had been the best hotel he'd been to, a place where he could relax and ponder life…_

_Wilson tossed the album aside and launched himself off of the bed. As he hurried through and out of House's apartment he had his cellphone out and was dialing someone who would remember the name of the hotel._

_He took the stairs down to the main level two at a time. "Hello, Bonnie? Hi, yeah…I'm good. Uh, Bonnie I need the name of the hotel we stayed at for the medical conference in Newark…yes, that's the one, the one we attended with House and Stacy…The Atlantis Shores. You're sure? Great, thank you, Bonnie!" He hung up and jumped into his car. Revving the engine perhaps a little too much Wilson peeled away from the curb and into traffic. His destination: Perth Amboy. He hoped he didn't come across the scene of a motorcycle accident along the way._

_H/W_

**He parked in front of the apartment building behind House's motorcycle. At least he knew that House was home, unless he'd taken his car somewhere, but that seemed unlikely; as soon as the weather was good enough in the spring he had his bike out of storage and went just about everywhere on it. Wilson hurriedly got out of his vehicle and jogged to the door. He found his key for the building entrance and once inside took the stairs up a floor two at a time. Wilson had his key for House's apartment ready in his hand but didn't need it; the door was unlocked.**

**He stepped inside. It was dark in the main living space of the diagnostician's apartment but a light shone from the end of the corridor that led to the bathroom and House's bedroom. He headed in that direction. He considered announcing himself, but he had no idea what state of mind he'd find his best friend in and he didn't want to startle him. When he reached the corridor he could see that the door to the bathroom at the very end was partially ajar and a pair of long legs and expensive Nikes were visible. House was sitting on the floor but since his legs and feet weren't moving Wilson had no way of knowing if he was conscious or not.**

**Wilson walked quietly down the passageway. When he reached the bathroom he gently pushed the door open and stepped cautiously inside…and saw a very dirty, worn out, scraped, bruised and cut up House sitting with his back against the bathtub, an amber pill bottle in one hand and Vicodin tablets in the palm of the other. He was trembling, breathing hard, a look of defeat and devastation permeating his entire body. He didn't look up when Wilson entered and stood in the doorway staring down at him. The diagnostician was hurting both physically and emotionally, but mostly emotionally, Wilson believed. For a few seconds they just stayed there like that, not moving.**

**House lifted his eyes to look at Wilson. The younger man couldn't get over how beautiful and vulnerable and _hurt_ they were.**

"Are you going to leap across the room and grab them out of my hand?"

**One corner of Wilson's mouth turned upward slightly, sadly. "No. I can't rescue you…you have to do that yourself. It's up to you. It's your choice."**

**Looking down and then back up House admitted, **"Okay…Just so you know, I'm finding it hard to see the downside."

**Nodding at that, Wilson knelt down in front of his friend, reaching a slow hand to lift the blood soaked dressing on the cut on House's neck. "You need to rebandage your shoulder. First aid kit still in the kitchen?"**

**House nodded. Wilson stood up and quickly went to get the kit. When he returned House was still staring at the tablets in his hand. At least he hadn't taken them yet. Wilson found a clean face cloth and wet it with warm water. He returned to his position in front of the injured man and gently removed the saturated bandage. He carefully cleaned the wound and the area around the wound with the cloth. House winced slightly every so often but otherwise didn't complain. He simply watched Wilson's hands, glancing up at him occasionally with his big blues. Wilson caught his eye a couple of times and smiled softly.**

**The oncologist felt overwhelmed with an emotion for his best friend. It was love that went beyond the platonic and for the first time in years he didn't deny it to himself or try to force it away.**

"Is that why you're here?"** House asked, a hint of cynicism in his voice. **"Foreman sent you?"

**"He told me you returned to the hospital without your cane and upset. I chose to come."**

**House took a moment to absorb that answer and then asked, "Are you here to lecture me about the Vicodin?"**

**Wilson reached into the first aid kit and took out a sterile saline soaked towelette to finish cleaning the wound. "No."**

"Well," **House shifted slightly on his bottom, **"I'm running out of ideas."

**Done cleaning the wound Wilson looked at it closely. "You may need a couple of stitches. We'll see how it looks later to be certain." He retrieved a bandage and some adhesive tape, fixing it in place neatly. With that done he set the first aid kit aside and threw the bloodied face cloth into the sink, then sat down next to House closely enough that their shoulders touched.**

**"I'm here because I care about you. I heard that you might be in trouble and all I could think about was making certain that you were going to be alright. I needed to come."**

**"Why?" House was looking at him now with genuine curiosity.**

**"Because," Wilson began slowly, choosing his words carefully. "You mean more to me than anyone else in the world. I was afraid…that I might lose you."**

**It didn't really surprise the oncologist when House weakly scoffed at that. "What about Sam?"**

**Sighing, Willson tilted his head back and staired up at the ceiling. "You were right about her; dating her again was a big mistake. I don't know why I never listen to you when it comes to the women in my life."**

**"Me, neither," the diagnostician agreed with a hint of a smile. "Did you two break up?"**

**Wilson shook his head but quickly said, "Not yet. I want to do it in person and I haven't been home yet."**

**An eyebrow on House's forehead arched. "You came here without going home to her first? Did you at least ask for permission?"**

**"I don't need permission," he answered, deciding not to tell House about her phone call to him. "I really screwed up, House. I was an idiot for kicking you out of the loft and pushing you away. I—I'm…sorry."**

**House rolled his eyes. "You think I'm going to take Vicodin because of that?"**

**"No." Wilson knew that it was a combination of pressures that had brought House to this point, and that his rejection of House was only one of them. He hoped, secretly, however, that it was one of the largest ones because that would mean that House cared as much about him as he did for House. "Think you've been struggling with a lot of things and it all just came to head today.**

**It was quiet between them for a moment before House inquired, **"You think I can fix myself? 'Cause I'm the most screwed-up person in the world." **His voice was whisper soft and his eyes as open and emotive as Wilson had ever seen them. He knew he had to be careful, tread softly so as not to push House too far.**

**"You're not the most screwed-up person in the world, House. Only one of us can hold that title and that's certainly not you. And yes, I think you can 'fix' yourself, whatever that means. You'll need support and help, but you can do it. That's what I'm here for. No more running away from you."**

**House shook his head. "But why?"**

**It was the moment Wilson had both been dreading and anticipating; he'd fought with himself consciously from the moment he'd gone to House's apartment and found House's former roommate at Mayfield, Alvie, staying with him; subconsciously he'd been living in denial for years already. Jealousy had hit him, and his immediate thoughts had been that he'd wanted to punch the hyperactive Puerto Rican right between his beady little eyes. He hadn't even known why until he left without getting to say everything he'd wanted to say and sat in his car out front House's apartment building thinking about it. The truth ultimately had one out over denial. So, afraid that he was going to wimp out now, he simply blurted it out and then waited for the chips to fall where they may.**

**"Because I'm in love with you, House."**

**Half-expecting House to recoil in disgust and yell at him to get out and never come back, Wilson was surprised when a small, nervous half smile broke the mask of misery. Even his eyes lit up ever so slightly.**

**"Seriously?" he asked suspiciously, scanning the younger man's face for any sign of deception.**

**"Seriously."**

**"So…you're gay?"**

**Wilson sighed. He shrugged and shook his head. "I think I'm bi. I mean, I'm sexually attracted to women, that much is obvious…but I'm also attracted to you. I guess my shrink and I are going to have to figure it all out. All I know is that I love you. And I have for a long time but I tried to ignore it, deny it…I'm supposed to be heterosexual, after all. Except that I'm not. Not completely anyway. Look, I realize that you're straight and that your feelings for me are platonic and that's okay. I have no intention of throwing myself at you; our relationship doesn't have to change…but you asked me why."**

**House stared thoughtfully at the oncologist for a few moments and Wilson forced himself to meet and hold onto the older man's gaze. It was hard not to look away because every second he stared at House he wanted him more. He knew that wouldn't be possible and Wilson questioned his own ability to keep his word about throwing himself at the diagnostician.**

**"Wilson, just answer this question with a yes or a no. Do you want me—all of me?"**

**The younger man's face flushed and he found his body wanting to answer that question for him. He knew he had to rein himself in while being honest. "Yes, I do. Body, mind and spirit, good and bad."**

**"You're not just saying these things to distract me from the Vicodin?"**

**"No."**

**Wilson felt his back cramping up from sitting on the floor too long. He used the edge of the bathtub to get to his feet. He extended a hand to House. He grabbed his hand and Wilson helped House to his feet. They stood only a few inches apart, still studying each other's faces.**

**House reached out a shaking hand and touched Wilson's rich brown hair, caressing it. The oncologist stood perfectly still, his heart racing, the nerve endings along his scalp and skin sizzling with heightened sensitivity. He wasn't exactly certain what was happening, but until he did he wasn't going to make any sudden moves and by doing so scaring his best friend away. When House's long-fingered hand moved from Wilson's hair to his temple and then traced his jaw line with a feather-light touch that gave the younger man goosebumps, the younger man closed his eyes, savoring the sensations rippling across his skin, the heightening of his arousal which he knew he wouldn't be able to hide much longer. A moment later he felt House's finger trace his lips; he had to fight the urge to kiss those finger tips.**

**"Wilson?" his best friend whispered. Brown eyes fluttered open.**

**"Yes?"**

**Without another word House leaned in at an achingly slow rate, his face inching closer to Wilson's. The latter could feel the moist heat of the former's breath on his face. Wilson's tongue ran across his bottom lip. The distance between their mouths was crossed and their lips met, brushed, withdrew then brushed again, less tentatively. House stared into Wilson's eyes and Wilson found himself getting lost in them. He couldn't believe this was happening but oh, how he was thrilled that it was! He allowed the other man to control the pace and depth of their kisses. The third time their lips touched House pressed them a little more firmly and Wilson responded accordingly. The kiss deepened naturally from there. Wilson's arms slid up and around the diagnostician's neck and his finger laced together. House's hands came to rest on his hips and then slid along Wilson's dress shirt along the waist where he proceeded to pull said shirt out from where it had been tucked into his pants. Once the hem was free, musician's hands slipped under the shirt and made contact with the soft, warm skin of Wilson's flanks and then back, rubbing circular caresses of it.**

**Wilson felt his desire building rapidly. He touched House's bottom lip briefly with his tongue; the older man responded by opening his mouth enough to give it access and Wilson took the opportunity to plunge it in deeply, hungrily mapping out every bit of his friends mouth. A small moan left House, and the sound of it increased the intensity of Wilson's passion, causing him to harden quickly. House took his turn exploring Wilson's mouth with his tongue and when they parted for breath Wilson felt like he was floating. House rested his forehead against his, panting. His arms completely encircled the younger man now and tightened to embrace him close.**

"Am I hallucinating?" **the diagnostician asked in a whisper.**

"Did you take the Vicodin?" **Wilson asked him, placing a soft kiss on the end of his friend's nose.**

"No."

**Wilson's hands came to rest on House's cheeks. "Then I think this is real."**

**"Yeah." House smiled shyly, "Wilson?…I love you too."**

**Wilson kissed him and he reciprocated happily. After another passionate, sensuous kiss the oncologist murmured, "Do you think texting Sam to break up with her would suffice? I really don't think it's a good time for me to leave you alone."**

**"Sounds okay to me," was the answer. House began to move them both towards the bedroom. "I really _shouldn't_ be left alone."**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: ****What Is Real**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** J. Wilson, G. House, L. Cuddy, E. Foreman; House/Wilson Friendship-UST or Pre-slash/slash. Mention of House/Cuddy once established but recently over.

**A/N: **This is a response to the "While You Were Sleeping" Challenge at Sick_Wilson at LJ. As will become apparent there are three different stories going on at the same time and I have tried to clarify by changing fonts and italics. I also borrowed some lines from the show, mostly from episode 6x22 "Help me". Where I have they are in bold type. Hopefully this won't be too difficult to follow. It's unbeta-ed because I'm too impatient to post it, so please forgive me. I will post this once but at the end of each chapter will be a link to the next. I've also taken liberty on interpreting what I saw of the American promo for episode 7x16 "Out of the Chute" so by this coming Monday when "Out of the Chute" is broadcast this will probably be quite AU.

**Warning: **Spoilers for all seasons and episodes up to and including 7x16; coarse language, violence, sexuality. Involves subjects like _drug abuse_, _addiction,_ _suicide ideation and suicide _although there is _no_ actual major character death. Reader Discretion advised.

**Genre:** Drama/help-comfort with friendship heavy with the UST.

**Word Count: **4344 (this chapter); total: ~15000 including introduction.

**Rating: M(NC-17)** for Adult subject matter, coarse language, drug use

**Chapter Four**

Before Wilson had the chance to pose his next question, Foreman, the neurologist who had been one of House's fellows before quitting and then later being hired as Cuddy's spy and watchdog on House's activities, arrived looking a little disgruntled at being woke at four-thirty in the morning to perform a neuro exam. He glowered at House, who really couldn't have given a damn and then smiled ever so slightly when he faced Wilson.

"Welcome back," he told the oncologist as House went to sit down in his chair to watch. "How are you feeling?"

Repeating the same answer he'd given House Wilson then added, "I can't remember what happened to me to end up in here."

"Some memory deficits aren't unusual with a brain injury," Foreman reminded him with a nod. "Let's get your neuro exam done and then we can answer some of your questions."

For the next fifteen minutes Foreman ran through a battery of tests to determine how well Wilson's brain was performing. Once finished Wilson looked from Foreman's impassive face to House's concerned one; his normally stoic friend was obviously having difficulty hiding his emotions for some reason.

"Well?" he asked impatiently. "How'd I do?"

"For the most part, very well," Foreman told him with a nod. "Obviously there is some loss of memory but even that may come back over the next few days, though if I were you I'd probably prefer it didn't. There were a couple of anomalies, however. When I told you that you've been comatose for two days then asked you for the date you answered March tenth, two-thousand-eleven."

"It's not the tenth?" Wilson asked, frowning.

"It's not two-thousand-eleven," House spoke up soberly. "It's still two-thousand and ten. And it isn't March tenth—it's May twentieth…unless you're a time-traveler, in which case all I have to say is _cool!_"

Wilson's eyes widened in disbelief. "No…no! You're wrong! I know that the last thing I remember took place on March eighth, two thousand–eleven. Is this some kind of prank? Let's confuse Wilson and make him think he's lost his mind, chuckle-chuckle? Well, it's not funny. If I've been in a coma for two days, then this is March tenth."

House and Foreman exchanged looks before House said firmly but quietly, "Wilson, today is May twentieth, twenty-ten. It's no joke. Two days ago, a large construction crane in Trenton collapsed and fell on an office building filled with over a hundred people inside. Cuddy, Foreman and I went down to the site of the disaster to work triage. You, along with every other doctor at PPTH, were here treating the wounded as they were brought in."

"Yes, I know," Wilson sighed. He was so confused now, and not entirely convinced that this wasn't some joke House was pulling on him and somehow had blackmailed Foreman into going along with. "You crawled into a collapsed parking garage to save a woman whose leg was pinned. She was in danger of crush syndrome and there was the possibility of a secondary collapse. She didn't want her leg to be amputated, Cuddy did. In the end you were forced to perform the amputation yourself. You rode along with her and her husband in the ambulance but she died enroute from a fat embolism. Foreman told me that you were in a bad frame of mind. I caved in to Sam and went home instead of popping by your place to check on you. Cuddy showed up instead and told you that she left Lucas to be with you because she was in love with you. That's when your ill-fated relationship began. I know that—but that was almost a year ago!"

House's expression of concerned turned to confusion as well.

"Foreman, take a hike," he told the neurologist. He looked like he was about to protest and then thought better of it. He left the room. House returned to his spot on the edge of Wilson's bed. He looked at the oncologist as if Wilson had just told him that he was Hitler and House was Eva Braun. _Wait a minute,_ Wilson thought, _where did Eva Braun come from?_ _House would be more like Himmler, or Goebbels…_

"House, I know what the date is. What I don't know is how I got hurt?"

House's eyes shifted away from his briefly. "Wilson, Cuddy never came to me that night after the disaster; _you_ did."

"What?" Wilson couldn't believe what he was hearing.

House continued without stopping, "You came over from the hospital as soon as you found out from Foreman. You found me on my bathroom floor, Vicodin in my hand, ready to kill myself and you stopped me. You really don't remember that?"

It rapidly occurred to the oncologist that his best friend wasn't joking. Was it possible? But if so, then how? Why did he remember ten months of life after that night with Cuddy as the one who saved House from himself and sparking their doomed romance? Why did he remember watching House die?

Shaking his head no, Wilson felt like the world was spinning out of control and he had no idea what was true and what wasn't anymore.

H/W

_It took him about an hour and a half to get to Perth Amboy on the quiet nighttime highways. It had helped that he had a lead foot the entire way and had been fortunate not to be caught by the police for speeding. The entire way he thought of the various ways House could do harm to himself, his anxiety being fed by them. Fortunately he hadn't encountered any accident scenes, but that didn't mean that it hadn't already happened and had been cleared away. Wilson had called Cuddy shortly after leaving Princeton; to his surprise she had actually taken his call. He'd asked if she'd received any calls concerning House from a hospital or police, assuming that House had switched from Wilson to her as his emergency contact and medical proxy. It had been a bit of a shock to learn that they hadn't made any changes of that kind during their relationship, which meant that unless House had named someone else in the interim, Wilson remained the man to call should anything happen to his best friend. He had to admit that it made him feel good to know that. _

_Those feelings quickly turned back to worry as he followed the directions his GPS was giving him to the Atlantis Shores Hotel. He'd called ahead to the hotel, trying to find out if anyone that fit the description of House had checked in. The hotel's privacy policy prohibited the front desk agent to give out any information concerning guests. He wasn't certain how he was going to get the information he needed, or even if House had come to that hotel at all. All he had was his gut feeling and it was screaming at him that he was on the right track._

_Of course, his luck being what it was, Wilson kept hitting every light red. He wished that just for once things would go his way._

_He reached the Atlantis Shores five minutes later. He parked in the hotel lot, noting that there were three or four people standing out on the back lawn, staring up at something on the side of the hotel and pointing. Wilson couldn't see what it was they were all staring at but he had a feeling he couldn't understand and knew he should check it out. He quickly got out of his car and walked briskly to where the small gathering was. He looked up and froze._

_Standing on a balcony railing five or six stories up as if preparing to dive off of it to the concrete pathway below, was the unmistakable form of Gregory House. _

_The world around Wilson seemed to come to a standstill and disappear as all of his attention was focus on the fact that his friend was about to jump to his death. If he'd been even five minutes later arriving, would House still be alive? The lost expression on the diagnostician's face—the emptiness, the loneliness and defeat—brought tears to his eyes. He raced forward to stand at the front of the crowd. He tried to capture House's attention._

"_House! My god, House! What are you doing?"_

_A woman behind Wilson asked him, "You know that nut?"_

_Wilson turned briefly to glare at her. "He's not a nut," he said softly, angrily. "Go call for help!"_

_The woman frowned indignantly but hurried away anyway._

_Wilson caught House's eye. The moment the older man saw him, a quick, sad smile flashed on his face. It was more a sign of recognition that happiness at seeing the oncologist. Swaying slightly on the railing, House kept his balance by lightly touching the bottom of the balcony above his. To Wilson it looked like all it would take to cause him to slip was a gust of wind. All he could think about was that he didn't know how he would keep going if House died. House thought that he was all alone in the world; well, Wilson was in the same boat. The only person they had to rely on was each other and in their stubbornness, stupidity and desperate attempts to find love and a normal life they'd been pushing each other away for months. What they needed to do was draw together, support each other, and be there for each other. Perhaps the only place either one of them could find love or companionship was with the other._

"_House, don't do it," Wilson pled. "I know what happened and I know how much you're hurting, but the end of your relationship with Cuddy really isn't the end of the world! It's not worth throwing away the rest of your life over."_

"_You don't know, Wilson," House called back. If he had indeed been out of his mind intoxicated, he didn't sound the least bit like it now. "You can't know."_

"_House, I may not know exactly how you feel in your situation, but I know what it's like to be betrayed, to be dumped. I've had the world pulled out from under my feet, and felt like without that person in my life my life isn't worth living. But your life _is_ worth living, House! I made it through the death of one girlfriend and I'll make it through being walked out on by Sam. You can make it through this break up with Cuddy too."_

"_You're wrong." House shook his head, the personification of misery. "I was all alone. You'd kicked me out because of Sam. Cuddy was with Lucas. Hannah died a pointless death because…because of fucking chaos! The roll of dice. Snake eyes. That's all. I didn't forget my cane in Trenton that night. I left it on purpose. I had decided I was never going to need it again. I went home and I was going to kill myself. I was going to take a whole bottle of Vicodin. It was better than living my life all alone anymore. I was waiting for you to show up…to stop me. You went home to Sam. You didn't care. I wanted you to care but you didn't. Cuddy came and stopped me. She was my last hope! My last chance! I had to make it work with her if I wanted to keep living. And I tried, Wilson. I tried so _hard_…" _

"_I know you did," Wilson acknowledged. His mind was spinning, trying to think of the best way to prevent House from jumping. "I know you tried, House. I saw you make yourself sick with worry over screwing up and losing Cuddy. I saw you sacrifice everything to make her happy. It's not your fault she couldn't accept you for who you are. All she could see was your history; she didn't even try to see how far you've come. That's her failing, not yours."_

"_Oh, it's mine, Wilson," House argued. "I'm the addict. I'm so broken I couldn't be there to comfort her without getting stoned first. I couldn't deal with the fear and pain like a real man. She was right to leave me."_

"_House, she was selfish and short-sighted!" Wilson felt nothing but contempt for Cuddy. "She lied to you! She told you that she loved you for who you are, that she didn't expect you to change but once you were together she manipulated and bullied you at every turn. She tried to control and manage you like she does everyone and everything else in her life. She demanded of you what she was unwilling to give back. Your relationship with her failed because she failed. She failed to be the kind of woman who deserved your heart. She didn't deserve better—you did. I know you don't believe me but it's true, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. There are a lot of people back at the hospital who saw how she was playing you. We didn't say anything because we didn't want to screw things up for you, but Cuddy didn't fool everyone into thinking that you were the jerk and she was the wounded party._

"_It doesn't matter," House replied, appearing defeated. "It doesn't fucking matter! All that matters is that I'm right back where I started. I have…nothing."_

_Wilson felt hot tears rolling unrestricted down his face but he didn't care. "You have me! You've always had me. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Please, please come down from there. Climb down and go into your room and I'll be right up. Please!"_

_House simply shook his head. He stood silently, staring down at the oncologist, streetlights glistening off the tears on his face._

"_I'm here!" Wilson cried again._

"_Until the next blonde with big tits and a tight ass comes along," House returned. "Then it's sayonara House. I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm sorry."_

_Wilson saw House's right foot move and knew that this was it. Half of his heart was about to be torn away from him and once again he was powerless to stop it. He yelled out House's name as the latter stepped forward. Wilson ran with everything he had; he didn't know exactly what it was he could do to stop him. Catch him? Act as a cushion? It was all so ridiculous, hopeless. He saw his best friend plummet to the earth and screamed, closing his eyes and turning away at the last second._

_All he heard was a solid bang against the concrete before his world blew up._

**Wilson didn't care that House was covered in dust and sweat and traces of blood that may or may not have belonged to him; twenty years of friendship and then more than friendship was culminating in that moment and all he wanted was to feel House's skin against his, taste his mouth over and over again, whisper things in his ear that he'd never dreamt in a million years he'd get to say and bring him to the heights of ecstasy to show him just how much he was loved. He knew the older man was exhausted, injured and in pain, both physical and emotional. Wilson didn't expect any of this to be about him. This was his opportunity to show House that he was special, loved and most certainly not alone.**

**House caught on quickly to Wilson's intentions and stopped it.**

**"Wilson, I want this…but not until it can be mutual. I…With you…I don't think I can enjoy it unless you are, too." He caressed his friends face. "Besides…I reek."**

**"I will enjoy it," the oncologist insisted gently, "just watching you and knowing I'm the reason you are."**

**"But I won't. We're going to do this…just not yet."**

**It was obvious that House had his mind set and once he did there was little chance if changing it. Wondering if there wasn't uncertainty at the core of this Wilson opened his mouth to ask. House anticipated his question and stopped it by kissing Wilson tenderly. He lingered a moment before whispering, "Don't worry…you're not off the hook. When we're both ready, I'll be all over you like a dirty shirt."**

**He was right. Wilson didn't want to push him, and it was important that their first time was mutual. It also occurred to him that House probably wasn't up to it tonight, pun unintended.**

**"Okay," he agreed, "but I get to do _something_. Not sexual…well, not directly anyway. Get undressed and comfortable, and I'll be right back."**

**House looked at him questioningly but didn't argue. "Okay."**

**Wilson left the room. He found the Vicodin in the bathroom, including the two tablets that House had been holding and dropped onto the floor, and emptied it into the toilet, flushed it all away. He then found a basin and filled it with warm, slightly soapy water. Locating a clean face cloth and several soft fluffy towels, he brought it all into the bedroom. House lay on the bed in his boxers, staring up at the ceiling.**

**"Uh, uh! _All_ of your clothes, Dr. House. If you need help, I'll be happy to oblige."**

**House rolled his eyes but removed his underwear himself. Wilson tried not to stare, but he couldn't help himself. House was beautiful, inside and out. _Why_, Wilson wondered,_ has it taken me this long to come to my senses?_**

**"Take a picture," House told him with a weak smirk. "It lasts longer."**

**"Don't worry, I will," the younger man retorted, "and I'll keep it in my wallet so I have it everywhere I go." He could have sworn he saw a hint of color appear across House's cheekbones.**

**Wordlessly, Wilson set to work gently washing away the grime and sweat from House's body; every surface, curve and crevice. He took his time, savoring the relaxation and contentment that had taken over his best friend. It definitely was turning him on but Wilson didn't linger with the genitals any longer than he did anywhere else. He respected House's wishes on the matter, although the oncologist was almost achingly hard when he was done. He finished the sponge bath by wrapping the diagnostician in the towels. House's eyes were closed but his breathing told Wilson that he wasn't quite asleep. He got up to take the basin and washcloth away when House's hand grabbed his wrist and two lazy blue eyes opened to look at him.**

**"Where are you going?"**

**"Just to dump this and call Sam—break the bad news. I'll be back."**

**House nodded and relaxed, letting go of him. "Could you bring me my ibuprofen when you return?"**

**"You bet. I'll find your heating pad as well."**

**Wilson carried the basin to the bathroom and dumped the dirty water into the toilet. He rinsed out the container and then put it back from where he'd gotten it. The face cloth was rinsed out and hung to dry. The bloodstained cloth still in the sink was trashed—there was no saving it. He looked at the bathtub and all of the shattered mirror glass at the bottom and sighed; he'd take care of that later. Wilson pulled out his cellphone and dialed home. The answering machine picked up. He frowned slightly. It was near midnight, so Sam should have been home and in bed. He reasoned that she'd probably turned off the ringer on the phone. He did really need to get a hold of her, though. He tried her cellphone.**

**It rang into his ear.**

**It rang in the corridor outside the bathroom door as well; right behind him. He spun around in surprise to see her standing there glaring at him with something club-like in her hand.**

**Sam brought it flying for his head, screaming, "_Liar!"_**

**The oncologist tried to dodge it a moment too late. The number three wood hit him in the side of his head. He cried out and fell back against the sink, grabbing it to keep himself from hitting the floor. He heard House shout out his name in alarm as the club came down at his head for the second time. He collapsed to the floor after impact and felt blood sting his eyes before he faded out.**

**Wilson was screaming when he opened his eyes and saw House looking at him in fear, his hands clamped to the oncologist's shoulders. It took a moment for him to become fully aware of where he was again. There were two other people in the ICU cubicle as well: Foreman was back and standing next to him was Cuddy. They both stared at him looking worried. Wilson's eyes returned to his best friend's face.**

**"What happened?" he asked the diagnostician; he was disoriented.**

**"I think you had a flashback," House told him softly. "We were talking about your lack of memory and confusion when you just blanked out on me. Then you began to scream my name and thrash. Just try to relax. Foreman, grab point five of Ativan."**

**"No!" Wilson protested, his breathing slowing. "I'm okay. House…I remembered. I was in your bathroom—the night after Trenton. Sam came, caught me. She screamed and hit me with a golf club!"**

**House nodded in confirmation. "The bitch broke my three wood on your skull. I heard you scream and I came running. My first instinct was to stop her from hurting you anymore. I just blindly punched her in the head, knocked her cold. I called an ambulance but it took forever to get to my apartment. I thought I'd lost you."**

**Nodding, Wilson told him, "I thought I lost you…now I know it was just a dream, though; a long, complicated, completely _crazy_ dream. I guess I was dreaming it while in my coma."**

**"What was it about?" Cuddy asked from the sideline.**

**"You went to House's apartment two days ago, not me," Wilson told her, smiling at how ridiculous it all seemed now. It had seemed so real, just like dreams do sometimes. "You'd left Lucas to be with House. The two of you began dating but…but the two of you were incompatible and you both were miserable; neither one wanted to fail at another relationship but you hung on until you got sick, Cuddy, and it appeared that you were going to die. House was so distraught over the thought of losing you that it was too much stress and he…he—"**

**"Relapsed," House murmured.**

**"Yeah," the younger man agreed. "You relapsed so you could be there for her but it backfired. Cuddy found out, and ended your relationship. You went back to the Vicodin hardcore, and were so depressed that…that you jumped from a hotel balcony right in front of me. I couldn't save you." Despite the fact that he now understood that it had only been a dream, his eyes teared up. "But I realize that it didn't actually happen. I went to you that night, not Cuddy. I found you on the bathroom floor about to relapse and I managed to get you to reconsider. I told you how I really felt—_feel_—about you. That I'm in love with you."**

**House sighed in relief and smiled at him, nodding. He brought up his hand to cup Wilson's face and caressed his cheekbone. "And I told you that I feel the same way."**

**Closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy being touched Wilson then asked. "What happened with Sam?"**

**"She ended up with a third degree concussion and is recovering—under police guard—upstairs,' Cuddy answered. "Don't worry though. She's currently restrained and never left unguarded. I also have security posted in ICU, just in case." She was pensive. "I'm relieved to know that you're going to be alright. However, I have to get back to work. I'll try to stop by later again to see you."**

**Wilson nodded and watched her leave.**

**"I gotta go, too," Foreman told him. Once he was gone House leaned in to kiss Wilson, his lips trembling. He then wrapped his arms around the younger man and pulled him into a full embrace.**

**"Wilson?" House whispered into his ear.**

**Wilson's arms were around House as best as they could be without pulling out his IVs. "Yes?"**

**"I love you. Don't ever leave me."**

**Smiling happily, Wilson told him simply. "I love you, too. And I won't."**

_**fin**_


End file.
